


Let time bleed, let love

by ElectraRhodes



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Could Be Canon, Hurt, M/M, Missing Scenes, Season 3, break up/make up sex, digestivo to the wrath of the lamb, maybe some comfort, pretty canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 14:44:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12344733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: From ‘Digestivo’ to ‘the Wrath of the Lamb’.





	Let time bleed, let love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andiemerizein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiemerizein/gifts).



> From a great prompt from my 600th follower on tumblr.. I think I rather mangled the prompt.. but I’m very grateful for it.

9\. 

When he opens the mailer the envelope falls out. It’s addressed in charcoal, in Hannibal’s handwriting, he almost throws it into the fire unread, 

‘Dear Will,

We have all found a new life, but our old lives hover in the shadows like incipient madness. Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking. I would encourage you, as a friend, not to step back through the door he holds open. It’s dark on the other side, and madness is waiting..

And so it begins.

 

Again.

 

1.

Of course Hannibal carries him bridal style all the way from Muskrat Farm. At least, until they reach the car that is waiting for them, just beyond the edge of the property. By then he feels weak from loss of blood, from the anaesthetic from the aborted surgery, from the fucking ride in the plane upside down when he’d already got a gaping wound in his forehead, and from the almighty fucking mess he’s made of everything.

Again.

 

10.

When he walks in Hannibal’s back is toward him, he’s looking up and away. Not lost in thought though. Probably.

Will walks closer to the Perspex partition, sees the drawings, a few books, the neatness, the sparseness, sees Hannibal, greyer, older, but still vital.

“Hello Dr Lecter.”

“Hello Will”

Hannibal turns then. And almost smiles. Will doesn’t really hear the conversation. Except the last bit.

“You’re family Will.”

And he knows he’s the one who has been snared this time.

 

5.

“Don’t go inside Will. Stay with me.”

Will leans up on one elbow and draws a finger down Hannibal’s chest. 

“Where else would I go?”

Hannibal blinks at him, remembering.

“You could go anywhere.”

Will looks at him a little harder, a frown appearing.

“Is that what you want then? I could go anywhere?”

Hannibal moves his head on the pillow and looks at him more closely,

“What is it you want me to say Will?”

“What do I want? Really? What about what you want Hannibal? Hasn’t this all been about what you want? Right from the beginning?”

Hannibal frowns and props himself up a little, his height gives him a slight advantage and Will suddenly feels crowded. He pulls himself out from under the covers and pulls the discarded shirt from the floor and wipes himself cursorily with it. It’s already got blood on it. What difference will some semen and sweat make?

“I’m going to make coffee.”

He drags open a dresser drawer and pulls on a pair of pants and an old flannel plaid. He doesn’t look at Hannibal.

“Will. Don’t.”

Will doesn’t say anything.

When he comes back to the room with two mugs Hannibal, and the clothes he discarded earlier are gone.

 

2.

When Hannibal lays him carefully down on his bed in Wolf Trap he starts to pull away but finally, and just for once Will decides he deserves to get what he wants. Just for a change. Just this time.

“Don’t.”

Hannibal pauses and sits on the side of the bed,

“Will?”

“Stay with me? Here? Now?”

Hannibal glances up and out through the windows, dawn is just breaking. They have time. Not much. But some. And Chiyoh is there, somewhere on the outskirts of the property, with a watchful eye.

“What do you want Will?”

“It’s not so much what I want, it’s what I need.”

He reaches up then and pushes a hand to the back of Hannibal’s neck. There’s a flesh memory there. An echo of something. A mirror. But unlike last time he draws Hannibal’s face to his and then ghosts a kiss over his mouth.

“This. This is what I need. You. Just for now.”

And Hannibal can’t refuse him. Doesn’t.

 

7.

He wishes them unsaid almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“I’m not going to miss you,  
I’m not going to find you,  
I’m not going to look for you,  
I don’t want to know where you are or what you do,  
I don’t want to think about you anymore.”

And then Hannibal leaves.

Again.

 

3.

He’s much more focussed and tender than Hannibal had expected. And more certain. Hannibal is all hunger, and loss, and great gaping emptiness, and Will pours in love, and forgiveness, and expectation to soak up those spaces. Even if Hannibal is a bottomless well, Will is an unquenchable stream of living waters. 

Hannibal wonders if maybe, just possibly, these were the means of influence he should have tried all along.

Will remembers all the graceful touches. And the bitterest. But when he slowly, finally, pushes inside he can see that Hannibal is completed, filled, mended. And he lets that feeling bleed into him. Conjoined.

The teacup come back together.

 

12.

Some distances are shorter than you might believe, some journeys infinitely longer. And salvation and redemption don’t always walk hand in hand. Nor sacrifice and forgiveness. But love? Love is the eternal enemy of fear. Its vanquisher and Lord.

And after love? If you haven’t fractured on the way there? If you take it with you?

 

4.

It’s intimate in a way that Hannibal doesn’t have words for. And every part, every sigh, every taste, every touch, every scent and sight is carefully curated. Stored. Hallowed.

When Will comes Hannibal knows he will do anything. Everything. Simply to have Will in this way again.

Will as himself. With the tenderness he has for strays and other broken things. With the intimacy of hands and eyes offered and accepted. With the soft assurance of melded edges. With that strength and wild.

Hannibal’s own orgasm is drawn from him like a soughing winnowing wind. One that separates the wheat from the chaff. There can only be before him and after him now.

 

8.

Three years later.

 

 

6.

Will sets both mugs down. He drinks one. And then sets the empty one on the dresser and lies back down on the bed. He rests his head on his arm and stares up at the ceiling. Part of him wants to cry, and part of him is angry. 

They could have had this year’s ago. Without all the blood and misery. Couldn’t they? Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe it can only ever be carved out of him.

He closes his eyes. Not meaning to sleep. More to recall the sweetness of the touch and the taste of Hannibal when he whispered Will’s name. Reverently.

But he does sleep. And he dreams.

And they are always splashed crimson and howling. He has to claw his way out of them.

 

11.

Will clutches on to Hannibal. Hannibal holding him close but not grasping. Breathing hard Will manages something that might have been a sob, in another life,

“It really does look black in the moonlight.”

Hannibal soothes against his cheek,

“This is all I ever wanted for you Will. For both of us.”

And Will finds a home resting his head in the crook of Hannibal’s neck.

“It’s beautiful.”

**Author's Note:**

> ..............................
> 
> Look at me all catching up on prompts and stuff! More over the next few days...
> 
> I got my Uni results back today (did an extra BA part time and a post grad degree part time over the last few years) smug face here got a double first and a merit. Oh yeah. Never mind the reading/writing too much fan fic thing and working two/three jobs. And the fucking migraine. I pulled it off.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who listens to me whinge and kvetch on here in the notes and comments and on tumblr and Twitter... if I could give everyone just a little something back I would. Xxx


End file.
